A leap of faith
by NancyMay
Summary: Another what if story. What if the knock on the door wasn't Mei Lin? A shock for Jean, a visitor that causes her to rethink her previous life.


Jean slipped her new engagement ring back on her finger, and took a moment to extend her hand and admire it. She smiled at the memory of the previous evening when he had sat next to her, a bundle of nerves as he proclaimed his love for her and explained about the ring. For the first time for so many years she had taken her wedding ring off, symbolising the beginning of a whole new life for her.

She took her apron off and laid it over the back of a chair then wandered through the house, ending up at his study, where she knew he was reading some patient notes for the afternoon surgery. She knocked but, unlike every other time she didn't wait to be called in. As she opened the door he looked up and smiled.

'Can I help you, Jean?' He asked, as if nothing was different.

'Maybe.' She went round to his side of the desk and stood next to him, looking into his clear blue eyes. She put her finger under his chin and tipped his face up. Bending to him she lightly touched his lips with hers.

'Oh, I see,' he smirked, and pulled onto his knee in one swift movement and into a passionate kiss that took her breath away. She finally broke away and they sat foreheads together, giggling.

'Ooh, doctor!' She breathed and prepared to see if that was all he had when she heard a knock at the door.

'Damn!' he cursed quietly, as she got up and smoothed her clothes,

'Coming!' She called through to the hall, and as she passed the mirror checked her lipstick was all right. She wiped a bit of stray colour from the corner of her mouth with her finger and opened the door.

A young girl stood there, about fifteen or sixteen years old.

'Hello,' Jean smiled, 'can I help you?'

'I don't know,' the girl answered, 'I'm looking for Sergeant Christopher Beazley.'

Jean put her hand on the door frame to steady herself.

'May I...' she was interrupted by Lucien who had noticed she was not as quick as usual to call through that it was Matthew or a patient.

'Jean?' He thought she looked pale, shocked.

'This girl is looking for Christopher.' She gulped.

'Christopher lives in Adelaide.' He stated the fact, assuming she was referring to her son.

'No, Sergeant Christopher Beazley.' Jean reached back for his hand.

Lucien could see she was in no fit state to take in what was happening.

'May I ask how you know Sergeant Beazley?' The question Jean was about to ask.

'He's my father.'

Lucien put his arm round Jean to support her worried she was going to faint, not that she was given to such reactions, but...

'No.' Jean gasped, 'he was my husband, we had two boys. He died, in Malaya.'

The girl handed over a photograph. Lucien looked at it. He had seen a photograph, once, of Christopher and Jean with the boys, it was him, together with a young woman in a nurse's uniform, but more importantly, it was a photograph of lovers.

'That's my mother.' The girl said, 'he said he was going to marry her then he disappeared. Mum passed away two months ago.'

'It can't be!' Jean began to shout, 'He was my husband! He couldn't, he wouldn't. He promised!'

'Come inside,' Lucien pulled Jean with him and let the girl enter. He turned to Jean, 'Come and sit down, please, Jean.' His tone was urgent.

'No!' She pulled away from him, 'I don't believe it! Christopher wouldn't do that.' She turned to Lucien and grabbed his forearms, 'It can't be true, Lucien, it can't be.'

The girl handed over a bundle of papers, letters and a birth certificate. The certificate showed the birth of a girl, Christine, six and a half pounds; mother, Anne Stanley; father, Christopher Beazley.' Lucien knew he had to have been there to admit paternity. His heart broke for Jean. He never expected her to forget her first husband, just as he would not forget Mei Lin, but now how was she going to remember him?

Jean opened one of the letters and her hand went to her mouth as she read the proclamations of undying love for Anne and Christine, so different to his letters to her, which asked after her health and that of the boys, how was the farm doing, and his familiar sign off of his love to everybody.

She sat down heavily in a kitchen chair and read a couple more of the letters, each one the same, each one tearing away at her heart. She screamed a long hard 'Noooo!' and swept the letters from the table. Burying her head in her arms she sat and sobbed, loud, gut wrenching sobs.

Lucien went to her and wrapped his arms round her, tight, as she howled into his chest,

'Why? Lucien, why?'

'Men do stupid things in times of war.' He knew this was no comfort.

'Did you?' She lifted her head, 'did you do that to Mei Lin?'

'No.' His answer was soft, but true. He'd had the opportunity, but anyone who knew Lucien Blake knew he was intensely loyal.

'Not with Joy?' She had been jealous of Joy MacDonald, they both knew.

'Not with her either.' He kissed her forehead gently. Jean believed him.

'What do I do now?' She looked into his eyes searching for an answer.

'Now,' he could be tender with her but he had to try and help her start to make sense of everything, 'now, my darling, you go and wash your face. I'll make some tea and we'll make some decisions together.'

Christine had watched the scene play out, she knew she had hurt someone who she didn't know, and rather than finding the one person who could love her, she had instead found her own heartbreak. Sixteen years old, and alone.

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Jean stood looking in the bathroom mirror. She had to admit she looked awful. Her nose and eyes were red from crying, her makeup all but gone. Somewhere she had to find the strength to do what was right, and this time, she would have to let Lucien help when so often she had not let him. He often said she was 'too bloody independent.' Then he would kiss her cheek and saunter off with a cheeky grin, because, truth be told, it was one of the things he loved about her. She splashed cold water on her face and removed the rest of the now ruined makeup.

In her bedroom she sat at the dressing table and repaired the makeup, hiding the red rings but not the tears that threatened.

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Down in the kitchen, Christine picked up the letters from the floor while Lucien boiled the kettle and set a tray for tea.

'I'm sorry.' She muttered. 'I only came here because you're a doctor and might know who I was looking for.'

'It's Jean you should apologise to.' Lucien pointed out, not unsympathetically, 'she has always blamed herself for Christopher joining up. They had had an argument, as married couples do, and he had thought she felt he was not, in her words, 'man enough for her'. It has taken all this time for her to come to terms with his death and stop blaming herself, move on. She has worked hard to make ends meet for her and the boys, selling the farm and coming to work for my father, then for me.'

Probably the best thing I ever did.' Jean appeared in the doorway, 'I wouldn't have met you if I had stayed on the farm.' She moved over to him and he put his arm round her waist. 'Dr Blake and I are to be married.'

'Congratulations.' Christine murmured. 'Mum couldn't find out what happened to my father,' Jean winced, 'sorry, Christopher. Not being his wife the army wouldn't tell her. But she knew he came from Ballarat and said if anything happened to her I was to come and try and find him. There isn't a Beazley in the phone book.'

'No, I don't have my own phone.' Jean looked up at Lucien, 'everybody contacts me on the house phone.'

'Oh.' Christine didn't know what to say, but she felt she should go, where? She had no idea, but this wasn't her home. 'I'd better go.' She stood and headed towards the door.

'Stop!' Jean called her back, 'where are you going?'

'I don't know, to be honest.' Christine admitted, 'I suppose back to Canberra, that's where I grew up.'

'It's more than seven hours,' Jean told her. 'How old are you?'

'Sixteen.'

Jean dragged Lucien into the living room,

'Lucien, help me, please.' She gripped his arms, 'I don't know what to do.'

'What does your heart say, Jean.' He asked quietly.

'I don't know.' Jean's eyes pleaded with him for guidance, 'anyone else I would offer a room to, but ...and yet I can't turn her away, she's only a child.'

'I am leaving the decision to you, Jean,' He whispered, 'I will support whatever you want to do.'

'It hurts, Lucien,' She leant against him, willing the tears not to fall, 'it hurts that he did this. I loved him and now, I don't know what to think, I don't even know if he loved me.'

'I'm sure he did.'

'Maybe, in the early days, when we were young and naive.' She sniffed, 'but there were many times when we fought. I just thought it was how things were in a marriage. My parents argued, I heard them, so I assumed it was normal. Maybe it wasn't. not the way we fought, anyway.'

'Did he hurt you, physically?'

'No, he didn't hit me, if that's what you mean.' She tried to think, 'occasionally if I was very tired, from the farm and the boys and the house, he would expect his 'conjugal rights' as he called them, and he could be rough. Do you think that's why he went with another woman, because I wasn't enough for him?'

'Don't start blaming yourself.' Lucien spoke a little sternly.

'But what if it was?' She persisted, 'what if I'm not enough for you?' She tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let her.

'Stop.' He help her tight, 'the current problem is Christine.' He bent low and whispered in her ear, '...and you will always be enough for me, even if you just fall asleep in my arms.' She relaxed a little.

'I suppose it would be better if she stayed,' she sighed, 'at least for one night.'

'We might find out more about her, anyway.' Lucien put to her, 'and more about Christopher and Anne. You don't have to be there, I can talk to her.'

'He was _my_ husband.' She replied, admittedly through gritted teeth.

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Christine took some persuading to accept the offer of a room, at least for that night, but in the end relented and steeled herself for some searching questions at some time. She sat in the guest room, not really sure if she should be visible or not. Dr Blake had said that Jean would show her the parts of the house she could go into, as it was also his practice there were certain rooms that were off limits to visitors. She needed the bathroom so she would have to speak to the woman.

'Er, Mrs Beazley,' Christine went into the kitchen where Jean was putting some herculean effort into kneading bread dough, 'may I use the bathroom?'

'I'll show you.' Jean wiped her hands on her apron and went up the stairs. 'This is the bathroom, the only one. The bedrooms are mine, and our lodgers' Sergeant Davies and Nurse O'Brien. Nurse O'Brien is currently away.' Jean refused to let Mattie's room, just in case.

'Thank you.'

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Jean kept up her usual duties, tried her hardest to be pleasant, it wasn't Christine's fault, she told herself, she didn't ask to be born. In the end, by lunchtime it was just easier to be civil and Lucien was a great help, with his loving touches and gentle smiles.

Christine told them, over lunch, that she never actually knew her father, he went to back to his unit shortly after she was born and that must have been when he was killed. The rest of her mother's family refused to have anything to do with either of them; a fallen woman and her illegitimate offspring. Anne had gone back to work as soon as she was able and Christine had been looked after by a local woman, who was kind at least, while her mother was at work. They spent their time together planning things they would do if and when they found Christopher, things that, now, would never happen.

Jean stayed silent, there were thing she had envisaged doing with her husband when he returned, but he hadn't, and six months after he died she was informed. She had thrown dishes at the kitchen wall, wailed at the injustice; and explained to her two sons that daddy wasn't coming home, but she was sure he loved them. Now she didn't know what to think.

She tidied the kitchen and prepared the vegetables ready for the evening meal. She noticed Christine didn't offer to help. 'I have to see to the doctor's patients this afternoon, there is the garden, the sunroom and the living room. ' She told her, 'feel free to read or just sit.'

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Lucien kept an eye out for Charlie returning from work. He didn't want Jean to have to explain Christine's presence, and he wanted Charlie to do some digging.

'Bloody hell, doc!' Charlie gasped, 'how's she holding up?'

'You know Jean,' Lucien replied with a sigh, 'but she's breaking up, inside. Don't be surprised if she disappears to cry, and don't even think about letting her know you know when she's shed some tears.'

'Right,' Charlie scratched his head, 'so you want me to dig? Find out something about Anne Stanley?'

'Please, but extend the search to Anne Beazley, just in case she decided it was less difficult to tell people she was a war widow.' Lucien muttered, 'don't tell Jean.'

'Ok, doc,' Charlie agreed it was best that way.

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Christine stayed for a week. Jean got used to her presence, but wished she was just a distant relative, not her husband's by-blow. She was not an offensive girl, she was quiet, and began to help at least in the kitchen, she would pass comment on Jean's cooking; better than her mother's; Jean's talent as a gardener, but Jean just shrugged her shoulders and said it was just something she had learnt.

Lucien watched. Each day Jean seemed more distant to him, and he noticed her eating less. He was sure she wasn't sleeping and this was confirmed when Charlie pulled him to one side, after Jean and Christine had retired for the evening, three days later.

'Doc,' he grabbed Lucien's arm, 'Jean,' he nodded his head in the direction of the stairs.

'What about her?' Lucien had a feeling he knew what was coming.

'You do know she cries, every night?'

'Sadly, Charlie I do.' Lucien sat down and sighed. 'But I don't know what to do. She won't let me help, won't talk to me, and when we're alone stays away from me. The only thing that gives me hope is that she still wears the engagement ring I gave her.'

'Anne Stanley didn't change her name, legally.' Charlie had done the investigating Lucien had asked. 'She was known as Anne Beazley but it was only her idea not for real. She worked, paid her bills, no trouble.'

'So, really,' Lucien sighed again, 'Christopher took her in, did what he did and...I wonder what he really thought. Surely he knew Jean would not agree to a divorce, however hurt she was, her faith means a lot to her and her vows, she would have meant them.'

'Seems like.' Charlie refilled their whisky glasses, 'the two people who get hurt the most are Jean and Christine.'

'I'm afraid so.' Lucien swallowed his drink. 'Charlie, whatever happens here, in this house, apart from a crime, you won't say anything, will you?'

'Eyes shut, mouth sealed.' Charlie smiled sympathetically.

'Thank you.'

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Charlie took his suitcase to the door,

'Right, I'm off!' He called down the hall, 'back at the weekend.'

Jean went quickly up to the door and handed him two packages.

'Lunch,' she held up her left hand, 'shortbread, for your mother.' she help up her right hand.

'Jean,' he bent and kissed her cheek, 'thanks. Mum'll be thrilled.'

'Give her my love.' Jean smiled.

'Will do,' he smiled back, 'chin up.'

Jean waved and watched him go and once he was out of sight her shoulders slumped.

Lucien watched her from the kitchen door and his heart broke.

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Christine went to bed, leaving Jean and Lucien alone in the living room. Once upon a time this would have been Jean's idea of heaven, now she wasn't so sure. Once, before Christine, she would have let nature and their instincts take over, now, now she was afraid she would disappoint him in every way possible.

Christopher had been her only lover, the only experience of love, of intimacy, she had was with him, and now she felt she was not enough. That thought had not left her from the moment she had uttered it to her new love, and she was so scared that she would let him down and he would do the same to her.

Lucien refilled her glass and his. He thought he knew what was worrying her and wanted to help her someway along that path. He sat beside her.

'Jean.' he offered her the sherry.

'Thank you.' She took the glass but avoided his eyes.

She continued reading her book, but the story did not register. The words flew in front of her eyes, but they weren't there.

'Good book?' he enquired.

She put it down in her lap, 'Not really.' She sipped her drink.

Lucien leant back into the couch and watched her. The light had gone out in her eyes and he was determined, one way or another to light it again. He watched her twirl the glass in her hand then take the remaining liquid in one gulp. He put his glass down and took hers off her, placing it beside his on the coffee table. She didn't move, leaning forward, her elbows on her knees. He reached round and stroked her shoulder, very lightly, drawing gentle spirals with his finger. Slowly she relaxed, her shoulders dropped and her breathing softened. He put such light pressure on the shoulder but eventually she moved against him, still not looking at him, but she relaxed against his shoulder, emitting a light sigh.

He moved his head and kissed the top of hers, she closed her eyes. They didn't move for some time. Lucien continued to stroke her arm, almost absentmindedly noticing as he did she relaxed more into him. He rubbed his cheek against her head.

Jean felt warm, as if she was going to melt. She knew she had been distant. The last proper loving thing they had done was to kiss passionately the day Christine had arrived and broken her heart. Since then she had found it difficult to accept him as her love. She could take his gentle touches and light kisses on the cheek and temple but could not bring herself to let him go further, in fact she felt their relationship had gone backwards. The only thing she was certain of was that, at some point in time she would marry him, but when, she didn't know. But now,

'I should go to bed.' She murmured, 'it's been a long day.' It hadn't been any more stressful than the rest of the week, but he was content she was more relaxed than she had been.

'Of course,' he cleared his throat and moved his arm. She stood up and straightened her clothes, an automatic action. Lucien stood and took both her hands in his,

'Goodnight, Jean.' He bent and placed the lightest of kisses on her lips.

'Goodnight, Lucien.' She let him drop her hands and walked out of the room.

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Christine left the next day, there was nothing for her in Ballarat.

'Thank you for your kindness, Mrs Beazley,' She said, as she stood on the doorstep. 'I never meant you to be hurt, I didn't know about you. What Christopher did was wrong, but I'm glad my mother never knew.'

'So am I, Christine.' Jean murmured, 'I hope you find the peace you seek.' She watched the girl walk slowly down the drive, it was almost as heartbreaking as watching Christopher leave, in his uniform, all those years ago.

'Wait!' Jean called, running down the drive. 'Christine,' she grabbed the girl's arm, 'if it all goes wrong, if the job doesn't work out, or you are frightened...call us.'

Christine stopped and gaped.

'I'm sorry, I've been horrible to you, drowning in my own misery.' Jean gasped, 'if you need us, we are here, for you.'

'Mrs Beazley,' Christine was stunned, 'I...'

'Go!' Jean smiled, 'before I change my mind.' But there was friendliness in her voice.

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'Charlie'll be back tomorrow.' Lucien observed as they drank their evening drinks. He had watched Jean, that morning, as Christine had left, and heard her forgive the girl, though he knew she would never forgive Christopher.

'Mmm.' Jean sipped her drink.

Since the night Charlie had left for Melbourne she had relaxed in the evenings. They had kissed, but not as passionately as that day in the study. She had allowed him to touch her again, hug her and she had nestled against his chest on the couch.

'This is us, alone, tonight.' He finished his whisky.

'True.' She finished her drink and passed the glass back to him, to place on the coffee table next to his.

He pulled her close and kissed the top of her head.

She wriggled a little and lifted her face to his. She smiled and his heart lifted, Jean was coming back to him. He bent down and kissed her, lightly , at first, then her lips parted and she let his tongue in. Their kiss became deep and passionate, breathtakingly passionate.

Lucien's hands slid up her side, his thumb brushing over her breast and her breath hitched. She pulled away, and he realised he was taking things a little too fast.

'Sorry,' he cleared his throat, 'I..'

'No,' she smiled shyly, 'It's me, I don't think I'm quite ready.'

'Of course,' he stroked her cheek, 'indeed.'

She stood up, 'I better go up.' she nodded in the direction of the stairs.

He stood, too, 'Yes, right, er goodnight, Jean.'

'Goodnight, Lucien.' She tiptoed up and kissed his lips lightly.

He watched her leave, her back straighter than of late, and smiled, he thought she wiggled her bottom more like she used to.

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Jean lay in her bed, staring at the ceiling, but seeing Lucien's face looking down on her. The past week or so had been pure hell, and she knew she had shut out those who loved her most. Her biggest fear was that she was not going to be exciting enough for Lucien, in spite of all he said. Since she had found out that Christopher had gone elsewhere for his gratification she had considered her marriage a failure, and it had all been her fault. Her naivety had led her to submitting to Christopher's desires, even when she was bone tired from a day in the fields, dealing with over active young boys and keeping the house clean. She had never learned to tell him that she was exhausted. She had been told, by her mother, that she was to obey her husband, and she always had. Lucien loved her, of that she was sure, but... She turned and pummelled the pillow. Looking up at her cabinet she looked at the photograph of her with Christopher and the boys. Her brows gathered in anger and she reached up and put it face down. She lay on her back, willing sleep to come.

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Twelve thirty, and still awake. This was ridiculous. She had tossed and turned to no avail. The house was still, eerie almost. She got out of bed and put her robe on. Tiptoeing down the stairs she thought of tea, that would soothe her.

She didn't notice Lucien enter the kitchen, awoken by the light and the sound of the whistling kettle, even though she had stopped it as soon as it had started.

'Is there another cup?' HIs quiet voice didn't even startle her, in a way she expected it.

She pushed a cup and saucer over and he poured tea into it. They drank in silence.

'Can't sleep?' he asked, looking across the room to the sink.

She shook her head and took her cup to the sink. He followed her and they washed up together, again neither spoke.

The tea towel over the chair he took her hand and led her, un-protesting, to his room.

He closed the door and hung his robe on the hook. Turning he looked at her, tired, but lovely in his eyes. He stood close and undid the tie round her slim waist, pushing the robe off her shoulders and letting it slide to the floor. She offered no resistance. One hand snaked round her waist and he drew her to him, bending down and pressing his lips to hers. She moved her hands up his arms and round his neck, opening her mouth to accept his tongue, she let him taste her and she tasted the sharp tang of his last whisky. She teased him with her tongue and let him guide her towards the bed.

She could feel his desire press against her belly, and in that instant decided to let him do what he and she needed. His hands moved inside her pyjama top, and this time, as his thumb grazed over her now raised nipple she offered no objection. He undid the buttons of her top as she did his and they stood still looked in a passionate kiss naked breast to naked chest. Her breathing became faster as his hands now slipped inside her pyjama trousers and slipped them down so they fell round her ankles and she stood naked against him. All that was between them was his trousers and she undid the cord and, as they fell to the floor, she felt him against her ready to take her. He lifted her onto the bed and started to explore her with his hands and his tongue until she could wait no longer and let him enter and bring her slowly to her release. She cried out his name as the blessed desire made her see stars and she collapsed onto the bed, now certain she was good enough for him.

He wrapped the covers round her, and kissed her face,

'I love you.' He nibbled her ear, 'you are everything to me.'

She allowed her eyes to close, and slept long and deep for the first time for nights. Safe, loved and secure.

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Well that's that. This had bugged me for a while. Reviews and comments always welcome.


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